Fine line brown tattoo of a bird nest with two eggs, surrounded by twigs and leaves, on the inner wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Bird nest with two eggs on a wrist

Fine line · Other · Colour · Photo

A fine line tattoo of a bird nest containing two oval eggs, with thin twigs and small leaves curling around the outside. The linework is delicate and even, and the ink is a single warm brown with no shading beyond the line detail. The nest sits centred on the inner wrist of a hand with dark navy nails, shown against a neutral, softly blurred background.

Fine line Botanical Other Twig Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dad said the hedge along the bottom field would have to come out before spring, so on the coldest Saturday of January I went down with the billhook and a flask of tea gone lukewarm in my coat. Frost lay grey on the stubble. The blackthorn was bare and mean-looking, and I had cleared about a yard of it when I found the nest, tucked into the fork where three twigs met, its cup still thick with dry grass and horsehair.

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There were two eggs in it. I thought at first they were not real, because they were too clean, but they were pale and brittle and pressed into the moss as if someone had set them down carefully and meant to come back. Our Ellen had kept nests on her bedroom sill every spring until she married and went off to Carlisle, and she used to say a nest was only a promise nobody had got round to keeping. I stood there with the hook hanging from my hand and felt daft about it.

I put the nest in my coat pocket, which was a mistake, because by the time I reached the kitchen it had shed leaves across the flagstones. Dad looked at the mess, then at me, and said nothing. Mam took it from my hands and set it on the sill above the sink, where the low January light came in off the yard. Then she went to the dresser, found the postcard Ellen had sent at Michaelmas, and propped it against the glass beside the nest without a word.

Ellen wrote back that week. Her letter was short, the way hers always were, and said the roads would hold for the lambing if she came up on the Thursday train. Mam read it twice at the table, then folded it and tucked it under the eggs.